“Bother it all!” she swore. A native of Manchester, he was the son of Kenelm Kneebone, a staunch Catholic, and a sergeant of dragoons, who lost his legs and his life while fighting for James the Second at the battle of the Boyne, and who had little to bequeath his son except his laurels and his loyalty to the house of Stuart. He did not love Ruth. Two persons possessing a more comfortable stock of assurance could not be readily found. She was fine and tender. "Are you a poltroon, after all?" "That's it! I ought to have died that night!" "Or is there a taint of insanity in your family history? Alone and practically penniless like yourself! You weren't even stirred by gratitude. "Fire!—murder—thieves!—I've got one of 'em!" "Come along," cried Jack. He wore a long coat, beautifully flowered, and a hat with a turned up brim.
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